


Just to See if I Can Bleed

by frostmrajick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kinda Dark, Self-Harm, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:30:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostmrajick/pseuds/frostmrajick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Something," Castiel says, an urgent awareness suddenly entering his voice, "is wrong."</p>
<p>Dean is dreaming (or is he?) and finds Castiel badly injured.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just to See if I Can Bleed

_"Sometimes I wish you'd cut me just to see if I can bleed..."_  


He’s dreaming again. This time, he knows it. Standing in the empty warehouse, he wonders where he is, why he’s dreaming this. Not that his dreams have been making any sense lately, anyway. Dreams of falling, of walking through a cancer ward, absorbing all illnesses, of accidently cutting himself and wondering at the sensation. He’s never dreamed anything like it before, and never in this way—like he’s seeing through someone else’s eyes. The first time, he just dreamed, but he’s been becoming more and more aware. Last time, he was thinking throughout it, though he had no control over what actually happened. But now, he realizes, looking down—he is in control, is even in his own body.

A sound makes him look up again, ever sense on alert. This may be his dream, but he’s positive that it’s not just a dream. He’s had angels in his head before—“more private? We’re in my head!” “Exactly. Anyone could be listening.”—and that is exactly what this feels like.

No, not exactly. Even then, he could affect things. Maybe he didn’t have complete control, but it was still his dream. Now…it was like he was in someone else’s. But that was impossible.

So it was probably exactly what was happening.

Quietly, ready to leap into action, scanning for any sign of danger, and for anything to defend himself—though would it even do any good in these circumstances?—he makes his way to where the sound came from.

In the shadows.

He lets out a relieved breath when he sees who it is, then immediately takes a sharp one back in when he sees what it is.

Castiel is crouched on the ground, arms slashed open in long gashes down each of them, covering almost his entire forearms, more wound than arm. Blood pools under and around him, still dripping. Dean’s seen a lot of wounds before, enough that he wonders If there’s even any blood left in the angel.

“Cas!” he exclaims, falling to his knees beside his friend. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Castiel doesn’t answer, gaze locked on the thick, dark blood, seemingly unaware of Dean’s presence.

Shock? Dean wonders. But he’s an angel, could he even go into shock? For that matter, why isn’t the wound healing?

For a moment, Castiel is silent. Then he says, “I turned it off.” His voice scares Dean as much as the blood, the gashes. It is dazed, far off, as though he isn’t entirely there. Dean’s seen him crazy, human, comatose, but he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him this bad.

“Turned it off? The healing? Why?” Then Dean’s gaze is pulled to something else. A large, visibly sharp, eerily clean knife gleams in the dark, an arm’s reach away. “Were you attacked?” There are no sigils, nothing to suggest that it is anything other than an ordinary knife, nothing that should be able to damage a self-proclaimed warrior of God. Although, with his healing turned off, he supposed it would, but that brought it back to the question of why, why voluntarily turn off the healing if he’s injured? 

Unless you wanted to be hurt—

A thought occurred to him, and he knew it wasn’t true, couldn’t be true, but he had to ask anyway, had to know, no matter how much he didn’t want to…

“Cas,” he says quietly, “did you…did you do this—to yourself? Did you cut yourself?”

Castiel says nothing, but somehow, Dean knows it’s true, and the knowing hurts more than any pain he has ever experienced.

It’s just a dream, he told himself, only…only it wasn’t. Dammit. It wasn’t.

“God,” he exclaims, and his voice breaks on the word. “Why?”

“Something,” Castiel says, an urgent awareness suddenly entering his voice, “is wrong.” Suddenly, he looks up—

Dean wakes in the motel room with a start.


End file.
